


First time for everything, Mr Bond

by hisquartermaster



Series: journey under the skin [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, First Time, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Riding, Romance, Smut, So much kissing, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 07:53:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6275941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hisquartermaster/pseuds/hisquartermaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I should have asked you long ago”, Q murmured against his lips. “In fact, I should have asked you that first day, in the Gallery. I wanted nothing more but that gorgeous, blonde agent they assigned to me as my first one” Q suddenly leaned backwards and gave Bond a doubting look “Do you even know how strong your back looks in that black coat? My big lion…”</p>
            </blockquote>





	First time for everything, Mr Bond

**Author's Note:**

> Co-written with lovely Momo.

 

At first, Q couldn't say what was wrong, but something was definitely amiss. Bond looked as usual these days – his face tired, cheeks covered in greying stubble, but his suit no less perfect than usual. Further inspection proved that his shirt was perfectly ironed, his tie matching the suit in a manner usually only seen in magazines, his shoes shiny and impeccable. All in all, Bond looked  flawless. Only, there was something missing and Q needed to find what, or it would drive him mad.

 

Q had a lot of reference material, after all he did spend the last three months watching Bond rather avidly whenever he had a chance. Ever since their first meeting, he was in hopeless lust with his agent, and the longer they spent bickering on the comms (or in the Q branch, where Bond lounged while not on mission ever since the Silva mess), the more his crush on Bond grew.

 

All the careful observation from the last few months finally brought results – he realised what was wrong. Bond's breast pocket was missing a pocket square. For an ordinary man, it wouldn't be anything of importance, but for Bond it was kind of like leaving the house in two different shoes or with your hair greasy for others. A definite sign that he was not okay. Saying that Bond had a rough year was like saying Q was good at hacking. Ever since M's death Bond was looking like an old dog, whose equally elderly owner died and left it to his children. Who all preferred cats. Well, maybe not all – though Q himself really was partial to kittens – but Mallory was only just getting a hang of working with 007 and it was undoubtedly not a smooth sailing.

 

Q had spent the last three months trying to gauge whether the sexual tension he first felt in the National Gallery was real or just a wishful thinking on his part. He knew he'd want to get into Bond's bespoke pants the minute he first saw him. Eve warned him that Bond was, quote, sex packed up in clothes that screamed sophisticated sex in expensive hotel rooms. At first, he thought it was an exaggeration, sure, all the double ohs needed to be attractive, but everybody was raving about James Bond as if he was a second coming of Christ, only sexy. He had to admit, if anything, they understated Bond's attractiveness. Sitting by the Temeraire, deliciously rough looking despite his posh attire, he was the most striking man Q had ever seen. And then he opened his mouth and it turned out he was also delightfully witty and sarcastic.

 

Who was he kidding, he was probably half in love with the agent five minutes into their first meeting. The problem (well, one of the many) was that while everyone knew Bond shagged his way through both missions and MI6 staff, nobody ever said about any guys becoming notches in his bedpost. Nevertheless, Q was almost sure that their banter was sexually charged. He was also quite certain that Bond was tracing the movement of his lips as he talked and ogling his arse when he got up. It could be a spy's habit of checking him for weapons, but none other agent did that.

 

The way Q constantly debated whether to act on the attraction he felt for the older man was a travesty. Weighing pros and cons after every meeting with Bond was starting to get unhealthy, his arguments running circles in his head, obsessing over their every conversation and Bond’s every gesture. No matter how long he thought about it, there was always one and only conclusion: Bond was definitely flirting, but it didn’t have to mean he was actually interested in something more than witty banter.

 

“Bond, my place, tomorrow at 7 p.m., come for dinner”, it was very unprofessional to act on his impulse, before he had a chance to analyse it, but to be honest, any trace of reason left his mind when he spent some time with Bond. And here he was, looking sad and missing the pocket square. Q really couldn't stop himself and he didn't really want to. He couldn't believe he did that, though.

 

Damn Bond being a spy, and Q being more fluid with computers than humans. The agent’s face gave away nothing. Inside, Q was panicking but he tried to keep his game face, not to make Bond think it was something more than a dinner if the agent really was straight and narrow. Oh God, if Bond was straight and homophobic, Q would die. At the same time, if he was in fact queer, but not in the least attracted to Q it would probably be even worse.

 

“Oh, so you do eat?” Bond smirked, which was not something MI6 had seen in a while. “I’ll be there”, he said with something suspiciously similar to a real smile and left the Q Branch, leaving the Quartermaster with mouth agape.

 

***

 

Bond honestly didn’t expect the Quartermaster to grow some balls so quickly. Ever since they met in the National Gallery, he was attracted to the kid, who was just the type Bond went for – witty, sarcastic and looking like a fairy tale character. More of an elf than a witch, but still uncannily reminiscent of Vesper. That was the main reason he decided not to chase Q. Bond had a nagging feeling that given the chance he’d fall for him hard. He felt particularly vulnerable now, given that all of a sudden M (his M, the only M that mattered) was not there and Q became the person he was closest to.

 

There was something special about his relationship with Q. There was the attraction, but so there was with Eve. There was the easy camaraderie, but he did have that with Tanner. There was also some mutual respect – just like with Mallory. With Q he had it all, as well as some strange kind of tenderness. This was the most worrisome thing about the whole affair. Bond was getting either old or soft. Or worst of all, falling for the cocky youth.

 

That was exactly why he stopped himself from sleeping with the obviously interested Quartermaster. Bond was afraid that once he got a taste of how it could be, anything less than everything would simply not be enough. If he didn’t like Q so much as a friend, he would have had him long ago, as it was obvious that the younger man wanted it as well. Their banter was always deliciously charged, loaded with double entendres that made Q’s minions gasp in the background.

 

Q was a smartass, as irritating as he was endearing. He was everything that Bond didn’t get about today’s youth (and God, how old it made him feel) – snobbish about strangest of things, whilst completely indifferent to the finer aspects of life. First of all, Bond didn’t understand Q’s kind of fashion. The cardigans, the chequered trousers, the parkas… It all distantly reminded him photographs of his father, a posh lad, a well behaved lad from the ‘60s. Then, there was the affinity for earl grey – also surprising in this new era of monstrosities sold as coffee. And this old fashioned boy was a technological genius, his mind not only modern but almost futuristic. It was as if he was a perfect opposite of Bond – twenty first century boy where the agent was antiquated and vintage where Bond was modern.

 

Despite all that, they clicked together. Bond liked spending time in Q Branch, observing Q’s brilliant mind at work. It didn’t hurt that it was packed in a body not even grandpa sweaters could hide. Q was so svelte that Bond was pretty sure he could encircle the boy’s waist in his hands. He looked tiny and breakable but Bond was sure it was just an illusion, one didn’t become a Quartermaster by being a wilting flower.

 

He shouldn’t fool himself, Bond thought. He found everything about Q enticing. And now, when faced with his Quartermaster’s brave face and sudden resolve he just couldn’t deny himself what he wanted all along. Maybe, just maybe, falling for the younger man was exactly what he needed. And possibly, after all the drama and death of the last couple of years, he deserved a bit of happiness. Even if it never lasted long.

 

***

 

The next day, Q had a small nervous breakdown every time he looked at the clock. The day was not long enough to get his body looking on par with the perfect humans Bond usually bedded. He had let himself go ever since he became the Quartermaster. It was a deadly combination of lack of time and lack of anyone other than his cat seeing him naked (the beast loved to get into the bathroom while he showered and meow at him).

 

Of course, there was also the question, whether Bond knew that it was supposed to be a dinner of a naked kind. If he didn’t… Well, at least Q would be properly groomed while heartbroken. But if he did want Q naked then it would be a tragedy to make him stop because Q’s skin was desperately dehydrated, the Quartermaster thought as he exfoliated his body vigorously.

 

It was so long since Q last had sex that he supposed he almost counted as a reborn virgin. It was the very unfortunate conjuncture of his break up with Simon, being overworked and having eyes only for Bond. It was a high time someone else touched him, while he still had a good body (even if it was in serious need of some skin care and depilation). He got hard any time he thought about Bond’s hands on his hips and the filthy, filthy smirk of his and it just wouldn’t do to have a constant erection, he was not 15 anymore.

 

Q had another little meltdown, when he had to decide what to shave. He decided to leave his pubic hair, trimming it neatly, but shaved his arse, thinking it would be a nice visual for Bond if they would really get to fuck. When he was finally smooth as he wanted, he located the long lost jar of a very fancy vanilla lotion (a gift from Simon, but whatever, it wasn’t as if Bond would know) and moved to his bedroom.

 

In front of the body length mirror, Q started to rub the lotion into his skin. He looked at his reflection and decided that if Bond didn’t find him attractive naked then something would have to be wrong with him. Maybe he didn’t have the defined musculature field agents had, but he looked good. After all, he was young (not young enough to still have spots, thank you very much, 007) and his body still had the youthful slenderness, his skin glowing after all the careful pampering in the bathroom and his hair lush and wild. If Bond wanted a man, he couldn’t find better.

 

The mental pep talk made him feel much better, until he noticed it was already 6 p.m. and he still had wet hair. That realisation led to another mini breakdown and a run for the hairdryer. Styling his hair seemed kind of pointless, because if all went according to his plan, his hair would be a mess in 5 minutes, but he wanted to be perfect, remembering all the beautiful people Bond had fucked.

 

Take Moneypenny, for example. She was driving Q crazy with all the sneaky suggestions about Bond’s sexual prowess. He knew she did it on purpose, not to be mean, but to motivate him into finally resolving their tension, before it exploded all around them. Every once in a while, she’d say something about the merits of a good buddyfuck or what wonders getting laid did to one’s moods, all the while pretending she didn’t mean the agent Q desperately wanted. The problem was he didn’t want a buddyfuck. He would take whatever was given to him tonight, because he was starved for touch and he just couldn’t deny himself any longer, but he wanted all of Bond. He knew this night could explode in his face later on, as buddyfucking people you were falling in love with was never a smart idea, but he was off the clock, he could afford to be stupid every once in a while.

 

When Q was finally as ready as he could be, he came to a horrifying realisation. He had been so focused on getting himself ready that he forgot he had invited Bond for dinner. Which meant food. This meant he was fucked and not by Bond, because the only food he had in the flat was cat one. It was too late to try and change that before the agent came, so he could only hope Bond was actually aware it was supposed to be a dinner of a naked kind.

 

It was 6:52 when he looked out of the window and saw Bond park his flashy Aston. When he got out of the car, Q noticed he was wearing his lovely midnight blue suit, the one that made his eyes look even bluer. Bond took something out from the car and when Q saw it was a wine bottle, he suddenly got a lot calmer. This specific suit and a wine bottle could only mean the agent was planning to romance him.

 

***

 

Bond couldn’t remember the last time he felt so content with his plan for the night. One could almost say he was excited. He carefully chose both the suit and the wine, being almost certain that while Q would appreciate his outfit, the quality of the wine would almost certainly go to waste, judging by the shite beer he usually drank with his minions, on the rare nights the Q Branch had some free time.

 

He noticed Q looking out from behind a curtain, which made him smirk and gave additional spring to his step. It was going to be a good night and to hell with consequences. Some things were either unavoidable or meant to be, depending on whether you felt optimistic.

 

Q didn’t play coy and was waiting in the open door, looking good enough to eat. He was wearing his favourite cardigan, the mustard-coloured one, the one with red and blue stripes by the neckline. The boffin matched it with chequered trousers that made his arse look obscene (Bond had a love-hate relationship with them, the minions were starting to laugh at him whenever Q wore them), white shirt and a knitted tie. Undressing him would be like unwrapping a masterfully packed gift.

 

“Hello, James”, he could see that Q was nervous, even though he was trying his hardest to play suave. “There seems to be a problem, you see. The only edible things in my kitchen right now are tea and cat food. So if you want to eat we can order something”, Q licked his lips, half nervously and half seductively, Bond couldn’t tear his eyes from them. “Or we can skip that altogether”.

 

Bond didn’t give Q any time to start doubting his intentions. The boy’s bravado was false, but the desire behind it was the truest thing the agent had ever felt, he mused as he closed the space between them, pressing his palm to Q’s jaw and kissing him. Q returned the kiss instantly, tangling fingers of his right hand in the hair on the nape of Bond’s neck, the other gently caressing his chest, as if Q couldn’t get enough not only of his agent’s pectorals, but also his silk jacket. Bond licked into Q’s mouth and decided that even if it exploded in his face, it was worth the feeling of the younger man’s lips opening for him, the taste of his mouth, the little sighs. 

 

Bond was not a romantic, but even he would have to admit the moment was perfect. Their bodies aligned as if they were made to cling together, Q’s hand clenching on the lapel of Bond’s suit, the agent nipping his lips. And just when he was planning to ask Q to move the party to the bedroom, something brushed against his legs. He must have jumped a little, as Q laughed against his mouth.

 

“It’s just Bilo, are you sure you don’t have catnip hidden in your shoes?”, even while joking, Q didn’t let go of Bond, instead starting to unbutton his shirt.

 

“While I’m sincerely honoured that he likes me, can we make formal introductions later? I’d rather start with a tour of your flat”, Bond didn’t stay behind for long loosening Q’s tie and brushing his fingers against the younger man’s jaw.

 

“I’m sure he won’t get offended, he’s pretty liberal, you see. How about we start with the bedroom?”.

 

***

 

Q couldn’t quite believe his luck. Even in his wildest dreams he didn’t think just kissing Bond could feel so good. All the chemistry they had translated really well into body language, he could almost feel sparks at every point their bodies met while undressing. Bond was surprisingly tender, stopping between garments to kiss him breathless. It was too long since he last felt to cherished and it was only going to be a one night stand, for Christ’s sake.

 

When Bond took off his pants, Q almost swallowed his tongue. Of course his cock would also be flawless, huge and thick, surrounded be the golden curls on a golden skin. He didn’t get much time to admire it, as Bond laid down on top of him, covering him like a heavy blanket and nipping on his jaw. Teasing hand slipped between them, cupping Q through his briefs, which made him gasp aloud. Bond’s cock, rubbing against his thigh felt almost overwhelmingly huge and hard. To be honest, Q was a bit afraid he wouldn’t be able to take it; it had been a long time since he had a cock inside.

 

“Of course you’d taste of bergamot and smell like a vanilla ice cream, you beautiful thing”, Bond whispered in his ear, punctuated it with a bite to his earlobe and as quickly as he was on Q, now he was gone. Only he was not, he was sitting by Q’s legs and smirking at the bedside table, where a bottle of lube stood proudly by the alarm clock. “I see someone’s a good little Quartermaster”.

 

“Shut up, Bond, just touch me”, Q didn’t have to ask twice. Bond got both of his hands on the waistline of the younger man’s boxer briefs and tugged them down steadily, looking at the slowly appearing pubic hair and then, the flushed head of Q’s cock. When they were both finally naked, Bond moved back to cover the Quartermaster with his body.

 

“My beautiful boy, I wanted you for so long”, the agent got the lube and swiftly slicked up his fingers, not stopping the sweet nothings whispered into Q’s ear between kisses. When the fingers slipped between his cheeks, the younger man tensed up; it really was too long since he last had someone else touch him. Luckily, Bond either didn’t notice (not likely, that) or decided to save him the embarrassment. When the first finger circled his rim and then pressed inside, Q mewled. He loved the feeling and missed it immensely, but what was really unravelling him was the fact, that it was Bond.

 

***

Q was a lot tighter than Bond expected, but some careful fingering loosened him up enough that they were good to go. The agent quickly located the condoms he dropped to the bed when they were undressing (he felt like a lad before his first date, buying wine and condoms in the late afternoon), rolled it on and lubed up. After scissoring his fingers inside Q once more, he dribbled even more lube to his hole and slowly started pressing in. He didn’t want to hurt Q, but he was so tight, it seemed almost inevitable. He almost decided to slip out and stretch him some more, but Q started urging him to go on, so he started pressing in harder.

 

Q was almost folded in half, his shapely calves cradled in Bond’s hand. The agent started thrusting, setting a slow but deep pace. After a moment they found a position which allowed Q not to get cramps in his legs; he moved one of his legs to the bed spreading it as fair as it would go, while resting his other foot on Bond’s chest.

 

“If you’d only know how many times I imagined you like that, spread on the bed…”, the agent couldn’t stop the stream of words, nor did he want to. He moved his hand to Q’s foot and started massaging it gently , wondering how it was possible even for his feet to be beautiful. “…bent over your desk, moaning my name, taking me so good. You pretty little cock slut”, his words had an unexpected effect on the Quartermaster. His already tight arse started rhythmically contracting on Bond’s cock, milking him. He couldn’t move, otherwise the delicious clenching would make him come, just moments since he first fucked in.

 

“Move, move… please, fuck me, don’t stop”, Q was begging deliriously, moving his legs to wrap around Bond’s waist to urge him to go on. Q’s hands moved to Bond’s ears, keeping his face so that they looked straight into each other’s eyes, all the while his legs climbed higher and higher, finally resting on Bond’s shoulders. The agent once again folded his lover in half, because he had to kiss those cherry lips. The only thing that kept him from coming at that moment was the irritating feel of crumbs on the bed, poking into his knees.

 

“Next time tidy up your bed when you invite me”, Bond panted as he pounded into Q. “How come you have no food but still manage to have crumbs in bed?”, he kissed his cheeks and closed eyes, as his moaning made it impossible to kiss his lips. Fucking Q harder and harder, he decided he had enough of the crumbs and with a growl, he lifted Q up, holding him under his buttocks and moved them to the nearest wall.

 

Finally free of the stinging in his knees, he proceeded to pump into Q at a frantic pace, growling into his ear. The boy started wanking his cock, moaning so high it sounded like a squeal, his fist flying at a similar speed, clenching harder and harder.

 

“Like it, yeah? That I can fuck you against the wall?” he asked in between the grunts “God, Q, you’re so light”.

 

Q mumbled something incomprehensible in response, clenching his eyes and squealing even louder ”Yeah, you do like it” Bond said, giving Q a fast kiss on the lips and watching how the boy gave him an almost reproving glance.

 

He had never thought it would be that good. Q was beautiful, flushed and almost out of there with pleasure, his mouth constantly open, panting and moaning. Just a few more seconds and Q went taut, eyes widened as if in shock, his arse gripping Bond impossibly tighter and warm come hitting his chest.

 

Bond could feel his orgasm approaching fast, so he once again moved them, never slipping out of still-clenching Q and almost threw them on the bed. He fucked in-in-in, grinding inside, relishing the feeling of being inside twitching Q for a little more. Soon though, he could feel Q was getting oversensitive. It didn’t matter, he was so close he could almost taste it. He slipped his cock out, quickly ripping off the condom and moved to straddle Q’s chest. His lover opened his eyes, looked at him and parted his lips, slipping out the tip of his tongue. It was enough of a suggestion for Bond to move on up, stroking himself furiously. Seconds later it was over for him, he came harder than ever, painting Q’s face with his come. 

 

***

 

Q felt delightfully boneless and fucked out. Every story he heard about Bond’s prowess in bed turned out to be majorly understated. They all omitted the best part – he was endlessly tender. He fucked like a machine, but his kisses were gentle and well, loving. And he did say something about the next time, though of course that could be just a dirty talk.

 

Then, Bond got the suggestion (of course he would, it seemed they were ridiculously attuned like that) and came all over his face. It might have felt like cheap porn, if it weren’t for what he did next. Bond moved, so that their hips were pressed together, feet tangled and leaning on one arm he started to gently (so, so gently) lick the come off Q’s face and tease his wide open lips with his own, sliding them over and not exactly kissing. He pressed butterfly kisses everywhere the younger man was marked with his sperm though, his free hand tangling in Q’s hair. The slow, tender licks made Q gasp and look at the ceiling in awe. This was too good, for God’s sake.

 

When most of the come was licked off, Bond pressed his forehead to Q’s and for a while they looked into each other’s eyes. Q could swear Bond wanted to say something but was refraining himself from doing so. Then, Bond murmured something about a washcloth and with a parting kiss he went to the bathroom. Bond’s lips were so tender and the look in his eyes was so fond that Q decided it couldn’t be just a one night stand for him. He was an agent, but he had no interest in playing up affection towards Q. And frankly, Q didn’t believe even the great 007 was that good of an actor.

 

 

When Bond came back with a washcloth, he first started cleaning Q’s face, with gentle strokes of the fabric, which were followed by even more light kisses. It was becoming more and more evident that whatever had just happened was not simple buddyfucking. It was not at all similar to what Eve told him had happened in Macau.

 

Then, Bond wiped his belly and delicately motioned him to turn around.

 

“You're bleeding. Not much, probably just a small chafing. How do you feel?”, the agent sounded wonderfully concerned, as if he really cared for Q. It was a weirdest feeling, but it gave him butterflies in the stomach. Too bad now he'd have to tell him the reason he bled like a (reborn) virgin.

 

“I'm better than okay. It's just been a long time since I last had someone fuck me. And in case you're fishing for compliments, fine, your cock is huge, by far the biggest I had. I almost felt it in my throat at moments”, he blushed, glad for the pillow obscuring his face. The confession earned him a kiss to the small of his back after which Bond got up. Q could hear him go to the bathroom, rinsing the washcloth and then going into the hall. The Quartermaster frowned; he thought it wasn't going to be a wham bam thank you m'am kind of an affair, but clearly he was mistaken if Bond already went collecting his clothes.

 

Berating himself for already feeling heartbroken, Q put on a t-shirt and socks (he had a rather poor circulation and got cold easily) and went to lock the door after Bond. He was surprised to see the agent in the kitchen, with an opened bottle of wine, apparently looking for glasses in the cupboards. He gave himself a moment to admire the view of Bond's naked back and the dimple formed by the muscles directly above the crack of his arse. The little triangle was hypnotising, Q wanted to lick it. Instead, though, he walked up to the agent and snuggled against his back, damning himself for being so needy, but feeling justified all the same, seeing as he was still thoroughly fucked out.

 

***

 

Feeling half-dressed Q pressed against his back felt too good to be only a physical sensation. Bond hoped that leaving the boy in the bed would allow him to get some distance and get his emotions under control, but the moment Q entered the kitchen he felt immense relief. Trying not to fall for the Quartermaster was a hopeless endeavour, so he might as well give in and bask in the warmth of his touch.

 

When he found the glasses, Q let go of him and went to sit on the table. He looked particularly tiny and vulnerable in his oversized t-shirt. Bond guiltily thought that the boy probably felt abandoned in the bed. He couldn't help himself, he walked up to the boy, setting the glasses on the table next to his thighs and slipped his hands under the shirt, putting them on Q’s hipbones and gently massaging his belly with his thumbs, near Q’s cock. The Quartermaster looked down and gasped at the sight.

 

“Such a skinny little thing, I could wrap your waist entirely with my hands. You weigh next to nothing, I need to feed you, love”, he looked into Q's eyes and brushed his lips against his cheek.

 

“I loved it when you lifted me up, I've never been fucked like that, nobody ever could keep me up long enough to shag”, Q smiled bashfully, though he was quickly coming back to his cocky self, as the next thing he said was “Now pour the wine, you old man, before I freeze to death here”.

 

Bond chuckled and moved to the counter to collect the wine bottle, coming back to pour it, all the while stealing looks at Q. The boy sat with his hands supporting himself behind his back, his soft cock peaking from underneath the t-shirt. It was smaller than his own but, like all of Q, pretty. Bond thought he could probably manage to fit it all in his mouth. He would definitely have to try it sometime.

 

“Come on, let's get back to bed. Take the bottle”. He let Q go first, looking at his pert arse and genuinely feeling happy for the first time in a long, long time.  When they got to bedroom, Bond deposited glasses and the bottle on the night table by the lube. Then he settled against the headboard and manhandled Q into sitting between his legs, back resting on his chest, head leaned back on his shoulder. Bond kissed Q's hair and passed him the glass of wine.

 

“It's really good. I mean, I don't know a thing about wine, but it tastes better than the stuff I drank at uni”, Q basically went boneless against him, oozing contentment. Bond scratched his belly with one hand, slowly moving towards his groin. The younger man sighed with pleasure, encouraging the further movement of his lover's palm. Bond started gently and oh- so- slowly pulling on his cock, all the while alternatively sipping on his wine and kissing Q's neck.

 

“I know you think I'm young, but you overestimate my refractory period”, the Quartermaster panted out, not making any move to stop Bond, instead closing his own hand on the one currently jerking him off. “I'm not going to come. But please do continue, I love it when you touch me”.

 

Bond almost snorted; Q was practically a baby, if they put their minds to it he'd be coming in no time. That was not the point of his caresses, though. It just felt good to touch the Quartermaster, intimate and affectionate. The whole thing felt incredible, first the mind-blowing sex and then the easy intimacy. He could definitely get used to that, if Q would be willing.

 

“So what made you invite me now?”, he asked between his lazy strokes “We flirted for a long time, why now?”

 

“It's silly. You'll think I'm obsessed with you and I've stroked your ego enough today”, Q squirmed in his arms, trying to get the bottle to refill his glass. It seemed that the boy was drinking the wine like it was water instead of savouring it, clearly used to alcohol devoid of any redeeming qualities other than being, well, alcoholic.

 

“I'd say, I'm the one doing the stroking now”, Bond punctuated the statement with a gentle squeeze to the base of Q's cock, which earned him a yelp and made his lover arch his back and harden noticeably. Bond stopped his caresses for a moment, poured the boy more wine and resumed slowly jerking his cock.

 

“Stop being so bloody literal”, the agent was quite sure that Q rolled his eyes at him, which was quite a feat, considering their current position. “You looked sad... And, don't you dare laugh at me, you arse, I noticed you didn't wear a pocket square. It seemed like a time for an intervention”.

 

It wasn't often that Bond was speechless. Actually, he couldn't remember any other time. Q was not only flirting with him, Q _cared_ about him, enough to notice some tiny little detail, that to anyone else would be meaningless. But not to the boy, who managed to correctly assume the meaning of the said detail. Suddenly, Bond knew that this night would be only the beginning, that they would be okay, that they could allow themselves to be happy together.

 

Q seemed to notice that Bond was as far from laughing as he could be. He slowly set the glass on the table, pried Bond's fingers from his cock and turned around. He looked into Bond's eyes and a tiny shy smile appeared on his face. He didn't say anything, just took Bond's glass and set it away. Q leaned in and planted a butterfly kiss on Bond's lips. Then he leaned back and smiled.

 

Bond couldn't help himself. He reached out and pulled Q further into his arms, kissing him desperately. He could feel them both smiling into the kiss and it felt both like a natural continuation of their relationship and like a beginning of something new and amazing. He manoeuvred them so that they laid down, facing each other and just like that they kissed themselves to sleep, nestled into each other, sharing breaths and heartbeats. 

 

***

 

Q startled awake; something was touching his stomach and tickling him behind the ear. The tickling could be Bilo, but the thing on his belly was definitely a palm. A warm, calloused palm.

 

“Morning, Q”, it was only then, he realised it was Bond. The agent was spooning him, planting small kisses behind his ear and inching his hand towards Q's groin. Slowly, Q became aware of his lover's erection resting nestled in his buttocks. It was quickly becoming one of the best mornings of his life, he wasn't mistaken last night, Bond wanted to stay the night and even longer, it seemed.

 

“Hello, James” murmured Q. “What time is it?”, Q moved his hips, pressing into Bond further. It was nice, being nestled in the warm sheets, back to chest, their legs entwined. Bond's nipping on his ear was also good. His own morning erection was definitely interested in further proceedings. He didn't really feel sore after last night, though still kind of loose. Q was certain a nice, slow fuck wouldn't hurt him. Quite the opposite, really.

 

“It's 6:30, we fell asleep early last night. Pity you have that t-shirt on, naked cuddling is the best”, Bond's hand slipped beneath said shirt and started playing with Q's nipple. The Quartermaster smiled and nuzzled the arm that was under his head.

 

“I get cold easily, you said it yourself I'm a skinny little thing. Besides, I never took you for a cuddling type, Bond”, Q finished the sentence with a yelp, as his agent decided to punish him with a hard pinch to the nipple. This meant war.

 

Soon, Q wrestled Bond into submission and straddled his hips. It had to be said though, that the agent didn't exactly struggle; being between Q's thighs was as far from unpleasant as one could be. The Quartermaster put his hands on Bond's pectorals which felt silky smooth, the delicate golden hair tickling insides of his palms. Bond was smiling up at him, a real smile and not a sarcastic smirk; it made him look a good 10 years younger.

 

Q tentatively grinded his arse on his lovers hard-on, relishing the agent's gasp. He definitely wanted that cock inside, preferably right the fuck now.

 

“Pass me the lube”, he whispered into Bond's ear, leaning down to kiss him. When the agent complied, he squeezed a generous amount on his fingers and pressed them into his own hole. Bond's eyes were comically wide.

 

“Aren't you sore? You bled last night”, the older man's hands moved to Q's hips, thumbs fitting just below the bones, fingers stroking the soft skin on the sides of his arse.

 

“Shut up, James. I'm not a delicate flower, I'm fully aware what I want and what I can handle. And your cock is both of those things”, Q moaned as he brushed his prostate. “So unless you don't want to fuck me, for once in your life don't question my competence”.

 

“Questioning competence sounds awfully professional, for someone who's got three fingers up their arse, don't you think, Q?”, Bond crossed his arms behind his head and smirked up at him. “Do your worst, I think I'll enjoy myself regardless”.

 

Q decided not to grace that with a comment, instead grabbing a condom and rolling it on Bond's cock, squeezing when he got to the base. He lubed him up, earning some quiet not-quite-moans. Then he steadied Bond's cock with his hand, the other holding his own to stop it from bobbing too much, and slowly, inch-by-inch, he lowered himself onto it.

 

***

 

Q's face, screwed up in pleasure was the most beautiful sight Bond's ever seen. His small cock was dark red, peaking from his hand and his whole chest was flushed. It seemed as though a cock in his arse was the thing he needed to stop being a smartarse, as he stopped the banter and started a quiet litany of moans and gasps, occasionally interrupted by declarations of utter love for Bond's, quote, huge cock.

 

“You're so tight darling, it's like screwing a virgin”, Bond's hands gently cradled the boy’s (his boy’s) hips, helping him to set a slow, lazy rhythm. He didn't try to make him go harder or faster, first of all because he really didn't want to hurt Q and also because it was too good like that. “Are you sure you're not a teen virgin, Q? Is your dad going to come after me?”

 

“I'm not that young, for Christ's sake”, Q panted, his hand going back to his bobbing cock to keep it in place.

 

“Don't. Let me see your cock, it's beautiful”, Bond grabbed Q's wrist and tugged his hand back to his own chest. “One day, I'm going to suck it until you cry. I wanted to the first time I saw you, by the bloody painting, but now that I've seen your cock, I know I will”.

 

“Bloody hell, you're so big, you're splitting me apart... And it feels so good”, Q was sounding rather desperate, starting to move a bit faster, though still nowhere near the frantic pace of their first fuck. He looked like an innocence debauched and Bond couldn't stop himself from asking the question.

 

“A bit inexperienced, aren't you? So how old are you actually?”, the agent strengthened his grip on Q's hips and slowed him down, raising his own hips, thrusting slowly but deeply. Q mewled and again tried to get a hold of his cock, but Bond batted his hand away.

 

“I'm twenty-fucking-seven, you arse, let me come”, Bond's brain kind of short-circuited. Q was 17 years his junior. “I was fucked before, regularly even”, Q's back arched and he squealed as another of Bond's thrusts hit his prostate. “It's just never been so good”.

 

That was it. Suddenly Bond couldn't hold on anymore. He arched up his pelvis, holding onto Q's hips and came, moaning endearments he'd probably be embarrassed about in any other situation. 

 

Q leaned down, looking at him with a sweet smile on his flushed face. He reached out and cupped Bond's face with both of his hands and kissed him. It was strangely chaste, considering  that Bond only just finished coming his brains out and Q was still hard and bobbing.

 

“I didn’t know you had a twink kink, James”, Q whispered licking Bond’s lower lip and then giving it a wanting look. “You’re so good to me”, he continued, watching Bond trying to catch his breath “I should have asked you long ago”, Q murmured against his lips. “In fact, I should have asked you that first day, in the Gallery. I wanted nothing more but that gorgeous, blonde agent they assigned to me as my first one” Q suddenly leaned backwards and gave Bond a doubting look “Do you even know how strong your back looks in that black coat? My big lion…”, one of Q's hands slipped down to his cock, his arse clenching on Bond's sensitive dick. Bond noted that his whispers were becoming fervent. “You can fuck me any time you want, come inside me, claim me”.

 

Bond couldn't handle it, he felt like a teenager with a first crush. He pulled out, disposed of the condom and sat up. Wrapping one hand around Q's waist, he held him close, leaving just enough space between them to jerk his lover off with his free hand. They were kissing messily, no finesse left, just breathing each other's air and sliding wet mouths together. It didn't take more than a few strokes before Q tensed and his come painted both of their bellies.

 

***

 

Q couldn't remember the last time he felt so content. He was warm and fucked out and wrapped in Bond's arms. His cheek was resting on one of Bond's pecs and he could actually hear his heartbeat. One of his agent's hands was stroking him between the shoulder blades and he almost felt like purring.

 

 “God, I feel like I practically robbed a cradle”, Bond sighed with laughter in his voice. “I was actually sexually active when you were born. And I was even legal, with women only, mind you”.

 

“Yes, you lived in dark times, but don't pretend you're an old man. Unless, of course that's something you're into...”, judging by how quick Bond came when he heard how old Q was, that was probably a thing for him. Not that Q minded, he quite liked the idea of having older, more experienced lover. Especially now, seeing James so tender and affectionate. Still, teasing Bond was his second nature. “Besides, old men don't fuck like that”.

 

“Shut it, twink. Come on, shower awaits. And then I'm going to take you out for breakfast”, before he knew what was happening, Bond threw him over his shoulder, Q's arse in the air and carried him towards the bathroom. “Someone needs to make sure skinny little boys like you eat a decent meal regularly”.

 

A brave new world, indeed.


End file.
